


Mistakes

by WebbedUpKatanas



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Boys being oblivious, But Fluffy Fluff Also, But not much gore, Emetophobia, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Gore, Lots of sexy times, M/M, a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 14:08:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1553153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WebbedUpKatanas/pseuds/WebbedUpKatanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has made a lot of mistakes in the past, and he knows having sex with Deadpool has to be one of the bigger ones on his list. So why can't he stop doing it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> I was planning on uploading all of my fics in order on here but I am failing at doing that on a weekly basis so I figured why not mix things up even more and just post this one! There's a bit of fire related injury/death... but it's Wade so it doesn't last long. Still if that's not your cup of tea, read with caution!

Peter’s first mistake was getting drunk enough at Tony’s party to take off his shirt and dance on the table. He can’t even remember which table it was exactly, but he has his suspicion that it was the long one with all the food on it. The guacamole he finds on his socks the next morning is sort of a dead giveaway.

His memories from the night are fuzzy, but he’s pretty sure he saw Jessica filming it. He’s going to have to have a talk with her later, spider to spider.

His second mistake had been refusing to stay over in one of the swanky rooms Tony had prepared for anyone who, like Peter, had consumed a little too much tequila.

To be fair, he had only left because walking around a corner and seeing Tony on his knees in front of Steve had made getting some fresh air very necessary. He’s surprised he hadn’t puked honestly, and he still can’t remember it without a shudder. It was like walking in on your parents getting it on.

Walking home had seemed easier than having to look either of them in the eye if they decided to rejoin the party. Besides, the weather was nice and Peter loved New York at night.

His third mistake was trying to fight Deadpool when he had suddenly appeared (the man has a talent for showing up at the worst times), especially when he kept making him laugh by narrating their actions like they were in a Pokemon battle.

“Spidey uses web. It’s super effective!”

Laughing and stumbling and punching had turned into a ridiculous slap fight which seemed to please Wade to no end. He’d threatened to pull Peter’s hair and bite him if he tried playing dirty, and had howled at whatever garbled reply Peter had managed. At least he thinks he responded, it’s all a bit hazy. They had twirled, locked in their epic battle until Peter had felt they were getting too close to the busy street for comfort.

When he had shoved him against an alley wall, and had found the other man surprisingly hard beneath him his brain was too busy drowning in alcohol to stop him from pressing their lips together hard through Deadpool’s mask.

And that had led to his fourth and biggest mistake. He could now officially cross enthusiastically making out with a mercenary in a dirty alley off of his Top Twenty Most Shameful Moments list.

No, he didn’t have sex with him, as tempting as the idea had suddenly seemed. He blamed it on beer-goggles and the fact that Tequila is very very evil that their sloppy make out had lasted as long as it did, and that he hadn’t been too repulsed by the scar tissue he could feel beneath the thin spandex.

The fact that he had enough presence of mind to roll up the mask for better access and had proceeded to rut against him like a horny teenager was a bit harder to excuse, but he was really very drunk and hadn’t had sex in way too long.

Thankfully he hadn’t been quite drunk enough to do too much more than kissing. He had pushed himself away desperately before anything else could happen, mumbled something vague and stumbled drunkenly home to take care of the weirdest boner he had ever had in his life. Thankfully Deadpool hadn’t followed. He’s not sure what might have happened if he had.

The whole thing seems like a dream in the morning as he stumbles from the bathroom to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water. His head is pounding, he smells like a brewery and his shirt is on backwards, but none of that matters in the face of the memory of Deadpool’s hands roaming up under said shirt and his mouth sliding slick against his own.

He takes two Advil and stumbles back to bed with an agonized groan. Alcohol is clearly the devil and must be avoided at all costs. Tequila must be extra strong he thinks dreamily in the shadowed space between sleeping and awake, because he falls asleep still imagining the feeling of Deadpool’s body pressed against his own.

…….

Peter manages to avoid the merc for a month after that little disaster.

At first he had been worried that the news of their encounter would spread like wildfire, fuelled by Deadpool’s inability to shut up, but he was pleasantly surprised that the man hadn’t run his mouth off about it to anyone. Which was sort of sad come to think of it, considering the table dancing video had already made its rounds through every superhero he knew.

Running into the mercenary again had been awkward to say the least.

It probably wouldn’t have been so bad if they had been fighting a common enemy, or even fighting each other, but running into him at a grocery store is the height of uncomfortable.

It was odd seeing the man in full red and black spandex piling a cart full of Oreos and Doritos. He had never really considered the fact that he, like everyone else, had to buy his food somewhere.

“Hey, Petey! How’s it hangin’?” Wade yelled excitedly, scandalizing an elderly lady who had shuffled away muttering angrily about costumed menaces. It’s people like Wade who give him his all that bad press he thinks, a tad unfairly. He blames his typical Parker luck that Deadpool had caught him before he could get away to hide behind the stack of macaroni on sale (though he did take a second to grab a few boxes).

“Uh, it’s good. How are things with you?”

This was the worst kind of awkward, like running into an acquaintance from high school and realizing that you don’t even remember their name. Or that you made out with them once, and that you can still remember exactly what it felt like to have their tongue shoved carelessly into your mouth.

“I’m awesome. About to have an epic Golden Girls marathon,” he bounces excitedly as he speaks. Peter wonders how exactly someone so violent can get so damn excited about a bunch of old ladies, though he does have to admit that Blanche is hilarious.

“You wanna join me?” he asks with a huge smile. Peter can’t think of much he’d rather do less.

“No, I’m good.”

“C’mon we can make a day of it! Get some sexy cougar lovin’, eat some junkfood, trade increasingly homoerotic quips that in no way reflect the fact that I’d secretly like to tap that ass like a maple tree, and- am I saying all this out loud again?” He asks with a semi-worried glance around.

Peter takes a step back, a look of horror etched onto his face. “I’m- uh, you know what, I’d really rather not.”

It was fascinating; he hadn’t seen someone’s face fall so fast since he’d had to tell Logan the fridge was out of beer.

“Oh. Gotcha. Too busy superheroing and stuff right? No biggie, I can appreciate my alone time with the goddess Bea,” he chattered, snapping back into his careless routine with ease. Only it had never really occurred to Peter before that it might be a routine instead of the man’s natural annoying state.

“No, I’m not on duty,” he said, wondering why the hell he’s so attuned to the other man’s body language as he notes the slight slump of Wade’s shoulders.

“Ah,” Wade nodded philosophically. The disappointed tone was really kind of sad. Peter curses himself for rubbing it in. He could have just gone with that excuse instead of being a dick. He usually isn’t so vindictive, but he’s been harbouring a lot of resentment about the weird kissing-induced desire he occasionally feels now whenever he thinks of the insane mercenary.

Peter bit his lip. Don’t do it. C’mon Parker you are almost in the clear, you don’t have to be a nice guy now.

“It’s just… I have to take these groceries home, and do a few things. But, I could come over later if you’re not doing anything?”

Damn it.

Wade flashes him a thousand kilowatt smile. “Sweet! Spiderman at my house! How cool is that!” he cheers, as Peter shushes him before the entire store learns his secret identity.

“Just… here,” he digs in his pocket, finding a pen. “Write where you live on here.” Peter passes the pen and his shopping list to the grinning merc. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking agreeing to this, but Wade has proved himself time and time again, so Peter thinks it’s about time he gave the other man a chance.

Wade hands him back the paper with his address scrawled messily down the side. He’s also added KY Jelly and a turkey baster to the list, but Peter would really rather not ask. “I’m gonna need more Doritos,” Wade muses, shovelling a few more bags into his cart with glee.

“Okay, see you in a few hours,” Peter says, already dreading it. He hopes beyond hope that this doesn’t turn out to be mistake number five.

…….

He only manages to wait two hours.

Two gruelling hours during which he had considered the pros and cons of simply not showing up. He probably would have called and cancelled if Deadpool had given him his number, but he doesn’t quite have the heart to try calling 1-800-DED-POOL.

He had finally figured that getting it over with was probably his best option, and had slipped on his coat and shoes, locking his apartment behind him with a sigh.

Wade’s house is a dump, but that’s what he had been expecting really, so gathering all of his courage he marches up to the door and knocks politely, trying not to squirm nervously.

Twenty seconds, two ominous banging sounds and a stream of loud and inventive curse words later Wade yanks the door open with a flourish smiling widely.

“Pete! You actually came! No I know, I can’t believe it either! Come in, come in!” Peter glances behind him to see who he’s talking to, but Wade grabs him firmly by the shoulders, half-dragging him into what Peter believes might become his torture chamber for the next few hours.

As far as torture chambers go, it’s actually kind of nice.

There’s a heap of dirty dishes piled onto a side table, probably to make room for the two bowls of chips and assortment of chocolate bars laid out on the coffee table. The couch is large and unsurprisingly red, but it looks clean and comfortable enough, and all in all it’s probably only as messy as his own apartment is.

“Uh, nice place,” Peter says as he’s shoved roughly onto the couch.

“Thanks! Oh where are my manners, can I offer you a drink? Some food? A hooker? I got some Snuggie’s too if you want one. ”

“Woah, um just water would be great,” Peter says quickly, trying to make himself comfortable. He’s only half convinced that the prostitute thing is a joke, and Wade’s enthusiasm is kind of overwhelming, but at least he returns with water and it’s even in a clean glass, so that’s something.

Deadpool dives onto the couch and has to do an absurd amount of squirming to get himself straightened out, ending up a little closer to Peter than he’s comfortable with, but their arms are just barely brushing so he can’t exactly demand he move over.

Watching tv with Wade turns out to be pretty fun. He remains quiet mostly, but occasionally he interrupts the dialogue to shout his own opinions at the screen. When Peter laughs the first time Wade seems surprised, and he proceeds to watch him out of the corner of his eye, his grin growing exponentially each time he makes Peter laugh.

At one point he stretches in such an exaggerated manner that Peter thinks he’s about to fall victim to the age old arm over the shoulder move, which makes his heart jump wildly in his chest. Thankfully it doesn’t happen, but the way Wade’s body bends is almost obscene, and Peter flushes guilty as he imagines the sort of things he could do to make Wade arch like that again.

It’s at about this point that he begins a mental mantra of ‘don’t think about sex around Wade, don’t think about sex around Wade.’

Unfortunately Peter’s mind has grasped onto the subject with glee, and he spends the entire second episode trying in vain to tear his eyes away from Deadpool’s throat as he swallows, having rolled up his mask to stuff Doritos into his mouth.

It only gets worse when the man starts licking the cheese off of his gloved fingers. That can’t be sanitary. Who knows where those gloves have been. But even that thought doesn’t make the sight of Wade’s tongue laving at his fingers lose its appeal. And Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t have a thing for gloves. Just the thought of gloved hands sliding over his abs is enough to make Peter decidedly uncomfortable and horribly aroused.

He gulps down his water and prays that Wade will stay focused on the television. This is the worst possible time for his sexual frustration to kick into overdrive. As if he wasn’t tense enough before with the prospect of having to discuss their makeout in the alley.

But four episodes in it almost seems like the merc has forgotten about their little encounter. Knowing Wade’s mind he wouldn’t be surprised if the man thinks he hallucinated it, and it might be awful, but he has no intention of setting him straight if he does.

Perhaps it’s foolish but Peter allows himself to relax by measures, keeps his eyes glued to the screen, and before long he finds himself fully absorbed in the show and Wade’s ridiculous commentary.

And then Wade starts humming “Kiss the Girl” from The Little Mermaid.

After that it’s “It’s in His Kiss,” followed promptly by “Rock and Roll All Nite,” which isn’t about kissing, but happens to be by Kiss so Peter manages to grasp the theme.

This is ridiculous. He needs to deal with this before Wade runs out of songs and starts just making kissing sounds instead.

“So, about that thing…” Peter starts, suddenly garnering Wade’s full attention.

“The alley thing?” Wade questions eagerly, not that he really needs to ask.

“Yes. The alley thing. I wanted to say thank you. For not, you know, spreading it around,” Peter says, flushing a bit. Wade grins at him.

“Yeah well, I don’t kiss and tell. Unless you pay me enough. Then I’ll describe every second in detail. I’ll even draw you some pictures if you want.”

From everything he knows about Deadpool Peter can’t understand exactly why he’s been keeping quiet. Wade name drops so often that it’s sometimes hard to get a word in edgewise.

“So if someone were to pay you…” Peter asks, only half kidding.

“For you Petey, I’d keep my mouth shut,” he chirps sweetly.

“Really?”

Wade sighs. “Okay, so normally I wouldn’t, but…I mean this is you! The Spider-man. Who would believe me?”

Bizarrely that makes him feel a lot better.

“Alright. I’m going to trust you then,” he says, trying not to notice how happy his words make the other man.

He can’t help but notice however when Wade’s lips are suddenly moving against his own. For a second he returns the kiss, almost forgetting where he is and who he’s with because it feels so good.

Then his sense kicks back in and his hands come up to grasp Wade’s shoulders and shove him away hard. He bites down on the hysterical impulse to laugh as Wade falls backwards, nearly flipping over the arm of the couch.

“What are you doing?!” he squeaks, shuffling back away from him along the couch until he hits the opposite armrest, putting a safe amount of space between them.

“I thought we were having a moment!” Wade exclaims, trying and failing to be subtle as he licks his lips. Peter feels a shudder, and to his horror it isn’t one of revulsion.

“No! Not that kind of moment! Jesus Wade.” Peter goes to get up and Wade is upon him in a flash, grabbing his arm.

“Don’t go, we haven’t even finished the season!”

“You were humming too loud for me to concentrate anyways,” he huffs. Trying to detach Wade from his arm turns out to be like trying to scrape gum off the bottom of his shoe; difficult and uncomfortably sticky.

“Pete, just sit back down. We don’t even have to take our clothes off if you don’t want to, we can just kiss for a bit” he whines petulantly, tugging hard at the arm in his grasp.

“Oh my God. No. This is not happening. I didn’t even mean to kiss you that night! I don’t know what I was thinking,” he blubbers, using his super-strength to keep from being manhandled onto the couch.

“But you were hard,” Wade says knowingly with the barest hint of a leer. The hand on his arm performs an action a lot like a caress that causes goosebumps to erupt over his skin.

“I was also very very VERY drunk,” Peter flushes but manages to take advantage of the loosened hold and finally tug his arm away.

“I could get you a beer?” Wade suggests hopefully.

“No!” he wails miserably. Maybe if he wishes really hard the ground will swallow him up. Anything would be better than this.

“You liked it,” Wade insists, “Just admit it! Listen, a nerd like you can’t be getting all that much action. I mean, you would be if you told chicks you’re Spider-man, but you’ve got some sort of deluded moral code or something. Which is totally cool, I can respect that, but aren’t you just the tiniest bit lonely?”

“Are you trying to seduce me by insulting me?” he asks incredulously.

“Is it working?”

Peter sighs, sinking back down on the couch dejectedly.

“Hey, it’s okay, you got an itch to scratch, and I’m like one of those weird wooden back scratcher thingies. No shame in a bit of male bonding, am I right? What’s so wrong with a handjob between friends, as long as we keep it between us?” Through the mask Wade is grinning, but a bit of his enthusiasm seems to be wearing off to be replaced with a nervous hesitancy.

“Wade, I’m not sleeping with you. I will never sleep with you. Even if I was lonely, which I’m not, I’m not into the whole friends with benefits thing okay?” His voice sounds tired and strained to his own ears. Wade has the uncanny ability to wear him out without even making him move an inch.

Wade’s hand relocates to his thigh insistently. “How do you know? Have you ever tried it?” The hand makes a few gentle circles which are innocent enough that he decides to let it slide. He’s got to pick his battles after all.

“I just know Wade,” he sighs. The hand slides up a few inches as Wade leans in closer. He should really do something about that.

“Pete, I’m not above begging,” he admits, and then his lips are inches away.

Time seems to freeze. He can feel Wade’s breath against his lips; feel the tension between their bodies and the heat as Wade’s hand begins to venture into forbidden territory, kneading firmly just inches away from his cock.

Surely just one kiss couldn’t hurt…

He barely has time to question where that thought came from before Wade’s lips are on his own again.

The kiss is soft, and tentative, more of a testing of boundaries than a kiss. It’s almost like Wade thinks he’s about to get punched, and really Peter knows he should do it, punch him or push him away or do something, but he can’t. Not after weeks of dwelling on their earlier make out. Not after a whole month spent guiltily imagining where that make out could have led. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s forbidden that makes it so hot. Maybe it’s that he’s being touched in ways he hasn’t in months, but he can’t bring himself to pull away.

Wade’s tongue brushes his lips and Peter opens his mouth to protest, but suddenly finds his tongue otherwise occupied. But when fingertips brush the bulge in his jeans and he tears his mouth away in panic.

“Wade, n-no wait, Wade we shouldn’t, we can’t- oh shit that was- where did you learn that?” he squeaks in surprise as Wade palms him through his jeans, giving him a firsthand demonstration of exactly how talented his hands can be.

“Don’t ask don’t tell,” Wade replies cryptically, as he watches Peter tip his head back to bask in the sensational friction of his hand. His mind and body have never been more at odds, with his brain screaming ‘no’ while his hips lift into the hand that’s busy sending sparks of pleasure through him.

When he looks down Wade looks hungry even through the half pulled up mask, and Peter lets the desire on his face make up his mind.

“Crap, just this once okay?” Peter breathes, hating himself already for how much he wants this. Wants Wade’s hands, and lips and body touching and pressing against him, stroking and sucking and building into a crescendo of heat and the promise of ultimate gratification.

“Take off your clothes,” Wade demands, and Peter rushes to comply, almost falling off of the couch in his haste.

“Your couch is too small. Bedroom.” Peter stands up to rid himself fully of his shirt and pants even as Wade slips his own clothing off, cautiously as if he expects Peter to bolt.

“C’mon,” he urges, and that seems to snap Wade out of it. He shucks his clothes hastily, though his mask remains on, and presses his naked body up against Peter’s, making them moan in tandem at the intimate contact.

“Kiss me,” Wade breathes. It almost sounds like a question, so Peter slams their mouths together to lick away any hesitation Wade might be feeling.

If coming over had been mistake number five, this was surely mistake number six, but damn did it feel good.

They reach the bed and Peter pushes Wade down, watching happily as the other man spreads himself out, waiting for Peter to join him.

He doesn’t have to wait too long. Peter knows if he waits his brain will catch up and demand he leave, and he’s too close to the glorious promise of another person touching him to want to stop, even if that person is Wade Wilson.

Crawling up onto the bed he takes a second to inspect Wade’s body. The scars are frightening up this close, standing out stark and red against the paleness of the unmarred sections of skin. He isn’t repulsed exactly, but they look like they hurt and he can’t help but feel sort of sad for Wade, having to live with such an inescapable and obvious reminder of his painful past.

He touches one on Wade’s stomach running a finger along the line of it, and takes it as a good sign that Wade barely flinches. He does squirm uncomfortably though, so Peter directs his attention to the line of his cock standing at attention just a few inches below where his fingers rest. Despite the scars it looks fairly standard, a bit bigger than his but not all that much different when it comes down to it.

He cups his balls and Wade makes an enchanting whining sound.

“Huh. No hair. You’re like a porn star,” Peter says enraptured.

“Yeah sure. I bet Freddy Kruger stars in everyone’s wet dreams,” Wade mutters darkly.

Peter promptly shuts his mouth. Having sex with Wade is like walking through a minefield, and he’s starting to worry he won’t make it out unscathed.

“Are we gonna get going here, or have I turned you off?” Wade snarls. Clearly too much looking and not enough touching has made him nervous.

“Does it feel like I’m turned off?” he asks, pressing himself against Wade’s thigh while he slides back up his body. The friction is amazing, made even better by the strange texture of Wade’s skin and the way he groans as Peter’s cock finally touches his own.

When they start to move it’s rough, almost animalistic, and nothing like the sex Peter has had up to this point in his life. Sure, he’d had wild sex with a few people before, but Wade is all barely contained chaotic energy, pushing, thrusting, scratching and biting with a ferocity he’s never experienced before. This isn’t making love, or having sex, it’s fucking, and Peter’s surprised to find he loves it.

“Harder, just like that,” he finds himself shouting as Wade lifts his hips to grind their cocks together. It’s embarrassing, like he’s a teenager emulating every porno he’s ever seen, but he can’t stop it, and he sort of doesn’t want to. Especially when Wade is growling things like “That’s right Peter, scream for me. I knew you’d be great, but fuck you’re amazing. Please…” It gives him a heady sense of power to make the other man just as starved for this as he is.

He considers closing his eyes to imagine it’s someone else touching him, but the feeling of scars makes that almost impossible and besides, Peter isn’t going to stoop quite that low. And Wade Wilson naked is actually quite an impressive sight, all slick with sweat and muscular, and in constant motion as he writhes beneath him.

Despite the fact that Wade is like a hurricane in bed, Peter finds himself taking the lead, his hand closing around both of their erections to jerk them off together. Wade pants, making needy whimpering sounds with each laboured breath. His body is hot beneath Peter’s, like he’s burning up, and they slide against each other, kissing so frantically that his lips feel bruised and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have teeth marks on them for a week.

Wade comes with a groan and a whisper that sounds suspiciously like ‘thank you’ and Peter follows soon after, coming despite himself and freezing up as he becomes painfully aware of every point where their skin comes in contact.

They rest for a while, with Wade’s arm thrown around him, as he rests his forehead against Peter’s shoulder so he can feel his breath on his skin. Predictably, Wade starts jabbering before Peter has even caught his breath.

“That was great! You’re fantastic Pete, has anyone ever told you that? You deserve like a medal or something for being a grade A lay,” he chuckles at his own rhyme. Peter shifts awkwardly in his arms.

“You want to grab dinner or something?” Wade asks, his arm tightening around him.

“I- I should probably get going,” Peter says guiltily. Now that the passion has faded the shame and guilt come crashing in. He’s sticky and tired and feels like just about the worst person in the world as Wade’s arms squeeze him one last time before he pulls away.

“Alright. Well, that was a blast. Guess I’ll see you later.”

When he looks at him he sees that Wade is resolutely avoiding eye contact, staring down his bedroom wall like he’s trying to set it on fire with his mind.

“Yeah. You were great,” he says truthfully, taking pity on him. The reassurance seems to work as Wade looks up to meet his eyes finally.

“But this can’t happen again,” he tells him seriously, leaving the comfort of the bed to search for his clothes amidst the clutter on the floor.

“Okay,” Wade says shrugging. Peter glares at him. Of course he isn’t taking this seriously, but Peter is adamant. Sure it had been good (awesome, fantastic, mind-blowing a voice screams in the back of his mind), but it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. No matter how lonely he is, sleeping with Wade Wilson is not the answer.

“I’m serious Wade. We can’t do this. Not again,” he repeats. His clothes are in the living room he remembers. Looks like they’re having this conversation naked.

“I gotcha, one time only deal. Just glad I got in on the action while I could.” Wade sounds more sincere than Peter has ever heard him, and it makes his chest ache a little with some unnamed emotion.

“Okay, as long as we’re clear…” he says, ducking into the other room and picking up his clothes off the floor.

Wade is still in bed when he comes back in. “Crystal,” Wade says, nuzzling in deeper under the covers, trying to retain some of Peter’s body heat.

Peter frowns, finally dressed and ready to leave.

“I’d walk you out, but I’m all warm here so…” Wade trails off expectantly.

“Yeah, okay. Well… see you around.”

He walks through Wade’s silent house timidly; a walk of shame, but not for the usual reasons.

Closing the front door behind him he takes a moment to lean on it, frowning uncertainly. One of Wade’s neighbours walks past, eyeing him warily, but he can’t bring himself to care.

It takes him a moment to realize that it’s the fact that Wade hadn’t been upset that’s bothering him so much. Because who in their right mind would sleep with Deadpool, and if they did how many of them would stick around after the fact?

How many times must Wade have been left immediately after sex for him to have such practised ease in accepting the treatment? He had almost seemed to expect Peter’s protests, like he was prepared to find out that he wasn’t wanted anymore once he had served his purpose.

Peter swears, turns around and reopens the door.

Wade looks up at him when he enters the bedroom, clearly startled as evidenced by the gun he has pointing straight at Peter’s chest.

“You’re back?” he asks, lowering the weapon a fraction.

“Yup,” Peter wills him to put the gun down, as it’s new position aimed at his crotch doesn’t exactly make him feel more comfortable.

“What did you forget?”

“My brain apparently,” he sighs, marching over to crawl up on the bed and kiss him fiercely. It’s all tongue and teeth and sloppy exaggeration, and the gun clatters to the floor.

“Fuck me this time,” he growls against his lips, biting the bottom one ferociously. Wade moans unabashedly, his body already arching and tensing into Peter’s helpless thrusting.

“Is this a pity fuck? Because I don’t need your pity,” he gasps as Peter takes his cock in hand.

“No. This is… I don’t know. Just some fun,” Peter says with a one shouldered shrug.

“Oh. Okay cool. I totally would have taken the pity fuck anyways, but that’s good to know,” Wade says, his breath hitching slightly. Peter already knows, so he says nothing, just runs a thumb over the head of his cock.

Mistake number seven, a miserable voice at the back of his mind reminds him. Thankfully the sounds Wade is making sufficiently drown it out.

…….

Mistake eight happens the very next day.

Initially he swears he won’t go back. He’ll lock himself up before he does something as stupid as having sex with Deadpool again. He tells himself the pull he feels to spend just one more hour over at Wade’s is just hormone induced madness, and that he’s Spider-man: he can overcome a few measly hormones no problem.

But Wade keeps pulling at him, yanking at the corners of his mind, tugging at his body until he can’t think anymore, and has no choice but to leave the cage his apartment has become to arrive, hesitant and unsure, at Wade’s front door. They collide again, a bittersweet embrace that leaves him utterly satisfied but aching with regret.

He doesn’t tell Wade he won’t be back. He hopes it’s evident. This isn’t the kind of relationship he wants, and he most certainly doesn’t want it with Deadpool of all people. He’s pretty sure Wade will understand. Besides, he’s so thrilled about just the three encounters that he’s fit to burst with joy. Peter resolutely ignores what that means about Wade’s expectations about relationships.

So it’s with guilty reluctance that he retrieves his pants and says goodbye, hopefully for good.

He only holds out for two days after that before mistakes nine, ten and eleven happen in quick succession, on the floor, on the kitchen counter and very very briefly (much to Wade’s chagrin), in the shower.

“That almost never happens, I swear!” he protests, burying his face in his hands.

“Don’t worry. It’s fine,” Peter says, leaning forward to kiss him. He purposefully neglects to mention that it’s more than fine. It’s actually astoundingly hot, and very flattering. He’s not sure how saying something like that would be received and he half expects Wade to bolt if he lets him know how much he wants this.

“I liked that thing you did just there with your tongue,” he adds, smiling triumphantly when Wade sinks to his knees before him.

“What? This?” Wade asks, wrapping his lips around his cock and sucking on him for a minute, running the flat of his tongue along the length in his mouth before pulling back.

“Or was it this?” he continues, going down again to flick his tongue against the head of his cock, licking the slit with abandon.

“Both are good,” Peter breathes. The warm water cascades against his back as Wade sucks eagerly at front, and he feels like he’s in heaven, or maybe in the sinful indulgence of hell. “But I was thinking the one where you sort of flicked it like, oh crap, yeah like that!”

This time he stays over, lying stiffly in Wade’s bed, barely a whisper away from him. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed sleeping with a warm body next to him, even if that body belongs to Deadpool. They wake up wrapped around each other, and after a chorus of macho throat clearing and masculine posturing Wade makes him breakfast.

“Well, see you tomorrow,” Peter says reluctantly as he leaves, not noticing Wade’s smile in his hasty retreat. There’s no point in denying he’ll be back anymore, he thinks with a mental sigh, so he might as well be upfront with both himself and Wade.

…….

They slide easily into a strange sort of friendship outside of the amazing sex. It’s strange but Peter has to acknowledge that they understand each other in a way that others seem to be unable to grasp, and it’s nice to finally have someone who can keep up with Peter’s verbal acrobatics. Wade not only understands all of his references but shoots his own back at him at twice the speed. He hasn’t laughed as hard as he does with Wade in months, possibly years.

Of course there are many, many downsides to their arrangement, but Peter steadfastly ignores them. Great sex seems to be the key to shutting down his logic, and thus far he hasn’t been able to complain about that part at all.

However, there is one rather enjoyable, if frustrating, downside that he likes to dwell on incessantly, especially when Wade isn’t readily available.

He should have seen it coming really. Wade’s ability to keep his mouth shut was bound to have a price attached, and unfortunately for Peter that price appears to be his sanity.

Wade is a tease. Which is hot in the bedroom (or against the wall, under the table, on a desk…) but it’s damn near killing Peter when they happen to be together in public.

One night, picking up takeout, his hand slips easily into Peter’s back pocket, grabbing a handful of his ass and squeezing, all while nonchalantly reading out the weirdest things he can find on the menu. By the time the waitress hands them their bag of food Peter is torn between punching Wade in the face and kissing him until neither one of them can breathe. It’s a strangely pleasant sensation.

Wade seems to delight in finding subtle but effective ways to drive Peter absolutely wild no matter who they’re around. All it takes is a few words breathed into his ear, or a gentle touch and Peter is driven half mad with desire. But of course Wade takes it a step further, subtlety never having been his strong point.

When the Avengers are looking for an outside party to cause a distraction Peter mentions Wade with barely a second thought and instantly regrets it as the protests start pouring in.

“I’m not working with Wilson!” is the general outcry. The entire team protests ardently, but it all comes down to Steve, who solemnly agrees that Deadpool would make the perfect distraction, and so the matter is settled despite mutinous grumblings.

He ends up regretting it even more when he discovers that Wade’s devious teasing doesn’t let up even in a professional setting, not that he should have expected the merc to be professional.

Wade’s lips brush the back of Peter’s neck as he reaches behind him to grab a knife off of a table in the conference room of the Avengers mansion. Peter covers up his shiver with an awkward cough and glares at him out of the corner of his eye.

Barely two minutes later he drops said knife and as he bends down to pick it up he takes the opportunity to run his lips gently along the line of Peter cock, coaxing it to harden mere inches away from the rest of the Avengers. It’s made all the worse by the fact that he can’t bring himself to tell Wade to stop. It’s not just the warm lips, it’s the agonizingly wicked temptation of getting away with it in front of the people he most admires and respects. The thought is beyond tantalizing. A wash of heat and intense fear crashes over him and he has to clench his hands hard to keep from touching himself or hitting Wade as he returns to his seat looking smugly satisfied.

They end up holed up in the bathroom down the hall, squeezed into a stall devouring each other and trying to keep their moans down to a minimum.

At the restaurant they choose for lunch the heroes stick him and Wade in a booth off to the side, claiming that since Peter brought him in, he gets to babysit Wade as well. Peter makes a show of objecting, but he’s secretly sort of thrilled. He’s starting to find being with Wade far more entertaining than he should. They talk about nothing, trading insults and pop-culture quips fast and free, laughing at each other with their mouths full of food.

Wade’s hand suddenly smacks down on the table with a loud bang.

“Gotcha!” he shouts, earning displeased glances from every other patron in the restaurant.

He glances up at Peter guilty, with just a hint of mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Uh… spider.”

“Seriously Wade?” Peter says, frowning.

“Oh shit, sorry…was he one of your people?” The question is posed with feigned regret, but his smile gives him away as he wipes his hand off on his leg.

“Maybe he was. Let me see,” he leans over to look at the smudge left on the table.

“Oh God…no! H-Harvey! You killed him!” Peter cries dramatically, and Wade doubles over in laughter as over half of the heroes at the other table turn to see what’s wrong.

Peter lowers his voice self-consciously, “You know I’m the spider totem right? Joking aside you could stand to be a little nicer to my spiders,” Peter says, patiently forking the peas on Wade’s plate over to his own.

“Your spiders? Do you own them? Are you in some sort of creepy spidery relationship I don’t know about?” Wade shivers in horror at the thought.

“I can summon thousands of them at will,” he says seriously. “Plus Harvey and I kind of had a thing.”

Wade guffaws, more out of surprise than anything.

“You laugh now, just wait until I send them to attack. Tomorrow you’ll wake up to a swarm of them, scuttling into your mouth, your ears-”

“So let me get this straight,” Wade cuts him off, “You’re telling me I get a spider in every orifice?” His leer is truly something to behold.

Peter blushes. “I can’t believe those words just came out of your mouth,” he says, shaking his head as he takes a drink to hide the smile on his face.

“Huh. And here I was thinkin’ you’d be a little more interested in what comes in my mouth,” he intones just loud enough that only Peter hears it. He chokes on a mouthful of water, coughing and spluttering as he turns beet red.

“Woah there Peter, take it slow. That water’s some pretty strong stuff,” Tony calls to him with a guffaw.

Wade’s shit eating grin earns him a slap, and Peter doesn’t let him steal any more fries off of his plate for the rest of the meal to punish him.

Wade had even showed up to the next poker night at Ben’s, citing a long-standing invitation which Ben had grudgingly acknowledged.

Peter had never played a worse game, but it was nearly impossible to concentrate while Wade’s bare foot (he must have kicked off his shoe) was sliding up his leg to tease gently at his sudden and unexpected erection.

“I fold,” he chokes, throwing his cards down in defeat and trying not to moan or thrust as Wade begins to rub him steadily through his jeans. His toes curl and Peter swallows hard, praying he doesn’t come in his pants.

“I bet you do,” Wade replies cheerfully.

And it turns out Peter does, that night back at Wade’s, bent nearly in half with his legs over the other man’s shoulders as he pounds him into the mattress.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Peter tells him afterwards, kissing his shoulder as they snuggle under the blankets. He’s figured out that Wade loves little kisses to his skin while they catch their breath after sex. He always makes these satisfied little hums of appreciation that give Peter a warm feeling in his chest.

“Let’s hope not,” Wade replies, sounding surprisingly serious. He throws an arm around Peter, holding him tightly, and Peter takes so long trying to think of a reply that Wade’s snoring before he can speak a word.

…….

Peter can’t help but keep tabs on every mistake he makes, and he makes a lot of them nowadays.

He meets with Wade as often as possible, despite their busy schedules, at all hours of the night and day. It’s funny Peter thinks, that between heroing and his time with Wade he’s never been tied up so much in his life.

Wade never comes to his place, but he calls him and purrs wicked things at him down the line to entice him over to his place. It’s a bit alarming how quickly just a word or two can make him hard, and he often wonders how Wade has become so good so fast at pushing all of his buttons.

Sometimes they eat, or watch tv before they start to kiss and touch, but other days Wade pins him to the wall the moment he steps through the door, or Peter shoves him down onto the table before they have a chance to speak. Clothes are ripped off, or left on while the fuck, just as long as they are touching, and pressing and rutting as hard and fast as they can.

The mask is an issue that gets resolved with a lot of pleading and reassurance on Peter’s part and pouting and sulking on Wade’s, but it gets tossed aside more and more easily each visit until Wade begins greeting him with a naked face more often than not. They’ve had sex on almost every surface possible, and some that might not have been possible for someone who didn’t have the balance and sticking powers of a spider.

Often it’s rough and hurried, each of them pushing the other towards orgasm at dizzying speeds, but strangely enough Wade seems to like it slow better. For a man who spends most of his time jumping around and buzzing with energy like a squirrel on crack, Wade takes a ridiculous amount of delight in the slow agonizing press of his cock into Peter or of Peter slowly working himself into his ass. It’s not making love, but neither is it the brutal fucking that they do so often, and it leaves Peter confused and breathless in more ways than one.

Sometimes, after they’ve touched and licked every inch of each other’s skin until it becomes impossible to stave off orgasm, Peter worries that he likes this too much. He still thinks Wade is one of the most aggravating people he’s ever met, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t luxuriate in the power he has to make him squirm and pant, and most of all to make him happy.

Wade’s happiness is something he’s started to worry about. The more time he spends with him the more he realizes that Wade’s smiles aren’t as carefree as he used to think. As someone who uses humour to cope with the less pleasant aspects of life he’s sort of surprised he hadn’t caught on earlier, but he’s also spent the bulk of his time trying to avoid alignment with Deadpool and any reminder that he reminds him of himself. Whenever Peter disapproves of him, or suggests ending things Wade seems to shut down. His jokes get more boisterous and his laugh more insistent, but Peter can tell he’s upset.

He can go from cocky bastard to complete self-loathing in the blink of an eye, and gets sulky and closed off whenever Peter wants to talk about his past.

He also seems to care a lot about what the heroic community thinks of him despite his practised nonchalance.

Once, after a particularly exciting battle, they had rushed back to Wade’s together kissing frantically almost as soon as the door closed behind them.

“Did you see how I shot down that one ship? Talk about being a bamf!” Wade says excitedly while Peter sucks at a the rough flesh of his neck. “Cap said he was proud of me! And even that little shit Johnny Storm said I had good aim!” he crows triumphantly.

“You did really well,” Peter agrees, and Wade glows with pride.

“A while ago I heard him saying that I’m a useless waste of space,” he confesses. “Said the only thing I’m good for is making villains want to turn themselves in rather than hear me talk. Which, you know, is probably true, but a lady has feelings Pete! Feelings that make me want to go all stabby. He’s lucky I had a hangnail that day, otherwise it would have been sayonara Charmander…”

Peter remembers the incident. He had been there along with some of the other Avengers and Fantastic Four, and he was among the ones who had laughed. He wonders if Wade even remembers he was there.

He kisses him to shut him up, and Wade’s lips almost make him forget the stab of guilt he feels for the incident. Sure, he wasn’t the one who said it, but he hadn’t defended Deadpool either. Nobody ever defended Deadpool.

Wade lifts him up and Peter wraps his legs around him with a soft moan. “I made him eat his words today,” Wade says emphatically, sliding a hand between them to rub Peter’s cock languidly through the spandex of his suit. “Saved the widdle fire baby’s life. Plus I punched him in the face ‘by accident’ in the confusion,” Wade cackles with glee.

Peter sticks himself to the wall, letting Wade go so that he can bend down and press a kiss against the tented spandex of his outfit.

By the time Peter comes, a wet spot forming on the spandex as Wade sucks and rubs at him through the fabric, Wade has talked his way through the entire fight, highlighting his own heroic feats of course, but it’s plain to hear the admiration in his voice as he talks about the other heroes as well.

Peter realizes with a start that, to Wade they aren’t just a group of heroes, they are actually his heroes.

He doesn’t have to wonder what it must feel like to know that your heroes don’t like you or even want you around.

Wade comes, shuddering, and Peter kisses him, feeling a bright smile pressed against his own frowning mouth.

…….

Peter waits at a counter, ignoring the cacophony of sound around him and smiling at his phone.

'hey sexy, still cumming to my place? ;)'

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love the way that Wade always texts like a teenaged girl. Except the rare occasion when he texts like a serial killer. Peter much prefers teenage girl Wade, especially when he wears his schoolgirl outfit.

Peter shakes his head and texts him back, telling him he’ll be over after he grabs a coffee. It’s been a long morning and he needs his caffeine fix before he can even think about keeping up with Wade.

“Is that your girlfriend you’re texting?” the barista asks, handing him his coffee. She’s pretty, with light blonde hair, a soft smile and an ample chest. She’s exactly the kind of girl that sends Peter spiralling back to the awkwardness of his high school days.

“No, I- I don’t have a girlfriend,” he sputters, trying not to drop the scalding cup as he reddens under her critical gaze.

“Well maybe you should ask her out. If she smiles like you just were when she gets your texts I think you’ve got a real chance,” she says with a wink.

Peter spills his coffee on his hand.

“Shit,” he grabs some napkins to clean up the mess, sighing in relief when the nosey girl turns to serve the next customer.

He’ll tell Wade about this later. He can already imagine him howling with laughter, both at the assumption and at Peter’s cringe-worthy reaction. Taking his drink over to an empty table he sets it down, trying to sort himself out and wiping down the dripping sides of his cup. Spidey healing should take care of the minor burn in no time thankfully. Too bad it couldn’t heal his bruised ego as well.

His phone buzzes again and he leaves off cleanup duty to check it, making sure to keep his face carefully blank just in case.

'got a mission taking down a real jackass, you'd be proud. ill call you when im done'

Peter frowns. He was looking forward to seeing Wade this afternoon. He texts him ‘Good luck’ and flips his phone shut, sitting down and sipping his coffee slowly. He still doesn’t approve of Wade’s methods, but he’s been trying really hard to keep the killing to a minimum lately so he doesn’t have reason to complain too often. It still bothers him that Wade seems to absolutely love killing and maiming, but he lets it slide. It’s not like they’re dating after all.

The coffee shop is busy enough that he doesn’t have to worry about the barista watching him, but he keeps glancing over at her anyways just to make sure. The coffee is too strong, but he doesn’t want to get anywhere near the counter again after spilling all over himself before.

Wade will probably be out for a while knowing how his missions usually go. Maybe he’ll go visit aunt May for a bit, he hasn’t been around to see her in far too long. Phone calls and the occasional email really aren’t enough.

He takes his time to finish his drink, checking his emails on his phone and jotting down a few ideas he’s had about his latest project at Horizon on a salvageable napkin. He waves to the girl behind the counter without making eye contact as he heads out the door twenty minutes later.

He has his phone in his hand and is just about to dial May’s number when it starts to buzz. Tony Stark’s number, which means there must be trouble.

“Peter, we need you down here now,” he snaps before Peter can even say hello. He barks out the address and the line goes dead. Peter sighs. “I’m great, thanks for asking. Always a pleasure having these long conversations with you Tony,” he says, earning him strange looks from the people passing by. As if they’ve never seen a man talking to himself on the streets.

Maybe he is spending too much time with Deadpool.

Oh well, there goes his lazy afternoon.

He ducks into an alley to change and swings in to work, thankful that he can at least bypass traffic on his commute.

When he arrives the building is blazing, and he can hear screams coming from within. His stomach twists unpleasantly as he surveys the scene. Half of the heroes are locked in battle while the rest of them are escorting civilians to the convoy of ambulances parked a short distance away.

“Hey, where’s the fire?” he asks, wincing at both the inappropriately glib joke and the sound the uniformed man’s head makes as it connects with the pavement. Hydra, he notes, so the whole head wound thing shouldn’t be a problem, but still. He webs him up and rolls him out of the way of the fire rescue crew, who seem intimidated by the heroes and Hydra goons who are locked in battle all around the building.

He swings over to where Steve is wrestling a man to the ground. “Need any help?” he asks, though it’s obvious he has it under control.

Cap shakes his head. “Tony hasn’t come out yet,” he says, and Peter is off, swinging in through the glassless window. The room he enters is empty, but he finds two women in the burning hallway who he quickly escorts from the building.

Rushing back in, he makes his way to the back of the apartment, following the sounds of a child crying. Why someone else hasn’t saved a scared kid by now is beyond him, because saving babies is top superhero priority. The poor thing must be terrified.

Peter coughs, the smoke already burning his throat, and crouches down low, readying himself to grab the kid and get the hell out of the damn inferno before he chokes to death.

He isn’t prepared to break down the door and find a familiar figure in black and red staring back at him.

Deadpool is on fire. And not in a good way. He’s leaning over a screaming toddler, blocking him from the burning beam that crashes down as Peter enters the room, hitting Wade squarely in the back and probably cracking some bones. His clothes have already burned up enough that long stretches of blackened skin are visible.

“Finally! What took you so long? You know I’m gonna make you stick by your thirty minutes or it’s free policy right?” Wade wheezes half-heartedly.

The child is pushed into Peter’s arms before he can even make a sound, but he can’t move. He’s stuck staring at Wade as the flames lick over his body like a lover’s caress.

“Go!” Deadpool yells, just as his Spider Sense starts ringing alarm bells in his head.

“Wade!” he hears his voice scream as he narrowly avoids more falling debris, cradling the child against his chest. Wade isn’t as lucky and disappears under the rubble, but there’s no time to free him as the building starts crumbling around him in earnest.

He races outside, thrusting the child into the arms of a waiting a paramedic and turns around to charge desperately back towards the building, only to be stopped by a metal arm around his waist.

“Spider-man, everyone’s out,” the mechanized voice says jarringly as Peter struggles against his hold.

“No! Wade! He’s still in there!” He breaks free for an instant before Iron Man grabs him again, holding him tightly.

“Wade can heal. You can’t.” he says, though Peter can barely hear him. He had forgotten about the healing factor in the horror of watching Wade’s flesh char and blister from the heat. His panicked mind keeps replaying the image of Wade burning alive, disappearing beneath the flaming wreckage with a silent scream painted onto his mask.

He collapses uselessly in the hold, barely keeping his sobs under control. If Iron Man notices he’s crying he’s kind enough not to mention it.

After that events seem to pass in slow motion. It seems like it takes ages for the Fire Department to douse the flames. While they work Tony fills him in on what had happened. It turns out that Wade had happened upon the scene, his job having turned out to be a bust, and had offered to help. Peter barely listens, his listless stare focused on the building as the flames slowly die down.

Tony let’s him go as soon as the fire is contained and he’s off like a shot, wading through the rubble frantically, unable to make a sound though he desperately wants to yell Wade’s name.

He finds him exactly where he left him, a withered husk of blackened meat and bone. He barely looks human as Peter gathers what’s left of him gently into his shaking arms.

He doesn’t know what to do or how long it will take him to heal so, ignoring the shocked and serious faces of the other Avengers, he takes Wade home.

He lays the corpse on his bed and rushes to the bathroom, vomiting violently into the toilet. His entire body is shaking, and he smells like fire and something worse, so he strips out of his costume and tosses it into the hallway before returning to the toilet to throw up once more.

Once his stomach is empty he lifts himself up off of the floor, running cold water in the sink and washing his face, trying to think of anything other than the charbroiled remains of the man he’s come to care for lying on his bed.

It takes him a while to gather up his courage, but once he does he checks in on him every few minutes, noting with a sick sense of fascination the changes each time.

Wade’s grows both arms back the third time he enters the room, but the skin doesn’t grow back fully until the fifth time he checks on him. His ears are back by the sixth time, his lips and most of the skin by the eighth.

The tenth time he checks on him Wade is just waking up.

He’s hunched in on himself, curled up into a tight ball with his eyes pressed tightly shut. His lips are moving, but the sounds coming from the man are so quiet that it takes Peter a while to realize he’s talking. He thinks he might vomit again when he realizes exactly what it is he’s saying.

Wade Wilson is lying on his bed, curled up, naked and vulnerable, whimpering a steady stream of “ouch, please, ah, stop, stop, no, please” that hits Peter like a punch from the Hulk, leaving him reeling.

“Wade? Are you okay?” He flinches. What a stupid question. Of course he’s not.

Wade scrambles up into a sitting position, tugging the sheets over him and tacking a smile onto his face with frightening ease.

“Well, I’m missing a few vital parts, sorry to all the ladies out there, and uh, you I guess, but the healing factor’s kicking in just fine. I’ll be restored to my full manly self in a few hours, never fear.” The lines are delivered with a grin and a cheesy wink, making it so easy to believe he’s alright, but Peter knows better. After years of practice he’s become so good at ignoring the pain that his act is seamless, but there’s no way that Peter can block out what he saw in the last few seconds when Wade thought he was alone.

His scars have never stood out so starkly, and Peter has never thought they were more beautiful. He takes each one as an affirmation. Wade is alive, Wade can heal, Wade will be okay. He wants to cry, half from relief but mostly because Wade is in pain and there’s nothing he can do.

“It- does it… hurt badly?” he asks.

Wade sobers slightly, the sunny smile dimming. “It always hurts worse when it’s just growing back,” he says shrugging.

Peter doesn’t know what to say. How do you respond to something like that? Especially when he’s seen Wade get injured hundreds of times. Shot in the shoulder, shot in the head, victim of multiple stab wounds. Has it always been this painful for him? Shouldn’t he have noticed…

“You get used to it,” Wade says, and for a second Peter’s afraid he spoke out loud, but it’s Wade who has filter problems, not him. He must just look as horrified as he feels, because Wade continues, “Burns are a bitch, give me a good old head wound any day. Don’t worry about it Petey, I’m right as rain.”

He peers under the sheets and smiles. “See, even my dick’s grown back! For a minute there I was worried I might be all Ken doll smooth for the rest of my life…” Peter can barely manage a weak chuckle. It’s taking all of his willpower not to grab Wade and squeeze him tight, but he’s afraid he’ll hurt him more, and that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“How about getting me some clothes huh? Unless you like what you see…” Wade lowers the sheets a bit with a leer. The sight is beautiful, but not because of Wade’s insinuation. He’s just glad to know that there’s skin covering his hipbones again.

Peter blinks. “Oh, right. Clothes. I think I’ve got a few things that should fit,” he says, turning to the closet. When he reaches for a hanger he realizes his hands are shaking.

He pulls out a faded red t-shirt that he never wears and a pair of track pants with holes in the knees, handing them to Wade, who has wrapped himself up like a burrito again in the sheets from the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, then turns and bolts from the room.

…….

Peter is dreaming.

He can tell because there are trees growing in Wade’s apartment. Tall white birch trees, lined up in rows that make Wade’s living room seem more beautiful and serene than he’s ever seen it. Unless Wade has decided to do some really interesting redecorating it has to be a dream.

Wade is sitting on the upper branches of one tree that shouldn’t be able to hold him, wearing a parka and singing like a banshee.

Peter can’t help but laugh, trailing his hand along the rows of trees as he walks over to him. Even in his dreams Wade is that perfect combination of adorable and astoundingly annoying.

“What are you doing?” he calls up to him.

Wade’s eyes meet his suddenly, dark and wild with fear. With a sudden jolt of terror Peter realizes the tree is on fire and Wade isn’t singing; he’s screaming.

He stands frozen in abject horror, unable to move as he watches while Wade is slowly burned alive. He feels like he’s falling, like his insides are floating up as he plummets downwards, and in a horrific parody of Wade he’s unable to make a sound as he screams until his lungs burst.

He wakes up with a start, drenched in sweat with his heart pounding in his throat, to find the merc leaning over him kissing his cheek. He doesn’t know where he is for a panicked moment, before remembering they are curled up on his hide-a-bed couch because the sheets of his bed are dirty. A wave of nausea accompanies the thought of exactly why they’re ruined.

“You okay baby boy?” Wade asks with concern, and flinches when Peter throws his arms around him, feeling the reassuring beat of his heart lull his own into a more steady rhythm. Pulling him down onto the bed he buries his face in his collar, trying hard not to sob. That would be even more embarrassing than waking him up because of a nightmare.

Wade doesn’t talk for once, he just lets Peter hold him until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore, even with the threat of flames flickering at the edges of his mind.

…….

After the fire Peter starts inviting Wade over more often, until they start spending more time at his place than Wade’s, and they each have a toothbrush at both of their houses.

Two months later it’s impossible to keep track of how many ‘mistakes’ Peter has made. He honestly doesn’t even know if they are mistakes anymore, and whenever he thinks the word it’s accompanied by some really obnoxious airquotes.

“Fuck Pete, harder,” Wade squirms in his position straddling Peter’s chest.

It doesn’t feel like a mistake to be sucking Wade off, to feel his fingers driving deep into him as Wade leans forwards, his hands braced on the floor above Peter’s head.

Wade makes one of his happy little sex noises and Peter gets a thrill, goosebumps erupting over every inch of skin. He hums back appreciatively around the length in his mouth and takes a moment to revel in the unrestrained delight of the moment.

Sometimes he can hardly believe this is real. If someone had told him that he’d be having frighteningly monogamous sex with Wade Wilson only a few months ago he would have webbed them up and sent them to an asylum. Now he’s become a necessary habit, something he can’t escape, and he’s not sure he wants to.

After sex he’s going to see if Wade wants to go out for dinner instead of ordering in. Taking Deadpool to restaurants is always an adventure, but they’ve been cooped up inside for too long, and Wade always responds with excitement when Peter asks him to go out.

“Helloooo earth to Peter,” Wade calls, knocking his knuckles against his head.

“You’ve kinda stopped moving,” he continues defensively in response to Peter’s glare. “I could just keep thrusting but I’m kinda looking for some audience participation here.”

“Mph, Mmm muph mmm,” Peter says authoritatively.

“Oh! Mad Gab! I love this game! Uh, let me guess, is it ‘oh Wade you’re so handsome and manly and you smell like lemongrass’? No? Damn, I thought I had it.”

Peter learns firsthand how difficult it is to laugh with a cock in your mouth. Also to breathe. He pulls away to wipe uselessly at the saliva on his chin as he snorts.

Wade doesn’t move, just keeps on chattering. “Never mind, I just remembered I hate this game. I never win. But I did stick a knife through Bob’s hand once when he beat me and that turned out to be pretty fun. Why’d you stop?”

Peter spares a moment to wish good things for Bob. The poor man deserves a medal judging by the things Wade has boasted about putting him through.

“I was just thinking we should go out to dinner,” he admits. If Wade thinks it’s strange to be contemplating dinner during a blowjob he doesn’t let on.

“You wanna hit up McDonalds or something?” he asks excitedly, visions of Big Macs no doubt dancing merrily through his head.

Peter eyes his cock sitting hard and tempting right in front of him. Wade makes it hard to concentrate under normal circumstances, but this is a true test of focus. “Nah, I was thinking that fancy place downtown. Do you have a suit?”

Wade’s face lights up like an arc reactor at full power. “I can wear my tux!” he crows happily. “That thing’s helped me almost score with hundreds of women,” he adds with a wink.

Peter chortles along with him, running his hands up and down his sides, feeling the laughter rumble through his body.

“Okay, hurry it up, I want steak,” Wade says.

“Thanks Cassanova,” Peter replies, but he goes back to it eagerly anyways.

Running his hand up the rough skin of Wade’s side as he thrusts into his mouth, Peter’s fingers dance up his chest, thumb catching on the dip at the base of his throat. He follows a scar back down his chest languishing in the harsh bumps of the scars and tumours that riddle Wade’s body. They don’t bother him anymore, but sometimes he wishes they would disappear for Wade’s sake, so he could stop hating his skin just as much as he seems to hate himself. Peter’s working on that, but it’s slow going, and Wade is too used to self-loathing to give it up cold turkey.

He sucks him until he comes, while Wade’s hand works him to completion. Wade hops up off of him, offering a hand up and is sent to start the shower while Peter makes a reservation.

This dinner is going to cost him an arm and a leg, but it’s so worth it to see Wade, after their shared shower (no funny business just a quick scrub) looking dapper and halfway respectable in his nicest outfit. It’s accompanied by a clean mask and his gloves of course, but Peter isn’t cruel enough to force him to go without them in public.

“You look good,” he says, eyeing the sleek lines of Wade’s body outlined by the dark material. Wade can really pull off a tux. Peter looks down at himself, and sighs. His suit is too big, and his bowtie is a mess, making him feel like a child playing dress up, especially when compared to Wade’s sleek look.

“So do you,” Wade says, eyeing him like he thinks Peter is on the menu tonight as well. “Although I’m not so sure about the tourniquet. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very Marie Antoinette chic, but it might be just a tad too kinky for formal dinner wear.”

Wade steps forward, tugging the fabric from Peter’s hands to tie it into a proper bow with practised ease.

“Huh, you’re good at that. You make a habit of tying other men’s ties?” he asks with a sly grin.

“You jealous?” Wade shoots back with a wink and a kiss, and then he’s out the door.

Peter smiles wider and shakes his head fondly, closing and locking the door behind him. You can dress Wade up, but you can’t take him anywhere he thinks as the man cartwheels down the hallway just because he can. Maybe it’s a mistake to bring him out, but Wade is so happy that Peter can hardly bring himself to care.

…….

It’s only a week later that Peter realizes he is well and truly screwed. He’s stretched out on his bed, lying on top of the twisted nest of his sheets, and wondering what the hell he’s doing.

This is wrong.

He shouldn’t be having casual sex with a scarred, insane mercenary who doesn’t know how to shut up. He shouldn’t be craving the taste of him, the firm thickness of his cock in his hand, or in his mouth, or filling him up so completely he can barely stand the pleasure.

He shouldn’t long for him so much it’s like an ache in his body. He shouldn’t be touching himself to the thought of him, imagining him moaning and laughing and begging as he strokes himself to orgasm.

He most certainly shouldn’t be wondering what he’s doing, when he’ll see him next, and how long his job will keep him away this time. He shouldn’t be worried about him. But he is.

He decides to add one more mistake to the long abandoned list. His newest mistake is caring for Wade, and wanting him for more than just casual sex.

He’s pretty sure he’s falling in love with Deadpool, and it shouldn’t have happened.

But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad that it had.

Most of the Avengers know by now. It was inevitable that they would start to notice his absences, his inability to provide an alibi, and the way he tended to rush off at odd times to see Wade, but it was the dopey smiles that had really given him away.

There aren’t many things more frightening than being cornered by a group of women with superpowers demanding you tell them who the lucky girl is. On the other hand there’s not much funnier than watching their faces when they realize you weren’t kidding when you told them it’s Deadpool. Carol had looked positively scandalized… and maybe a little bit ill.

When it had gotten around to some of the others Tony had hunted him down and told him he was insane. Luke Cage agreed and Cap had given him one of his famous speeches, reminding him that Deadpool was dangerous and volatile, and saying he hoped he was being careful. It was almost sweet though, especially when Steve had asked him if they were happy together. He hadn’t had the heart to tell him that they weren’t technically dating.

Except that they sort of are. Peter isn’t sure, but he thinks they might have been dating from the very beginning, but they’ve both been too stupid to see it.

“So, I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re sort of dating,” Peter says that night as they snuggle on the couch, because he’s a huge dork and no matter how hard he tries he can think of a more eloquent way to bring it up.

Wade makes an alarming sound, and for a second Peter’s afraid he’s going to freak out and punch him. Wade may be engaging in gay sex almost every day, but that doesn’t stop him from firmly asserting his heterosexuality every time he lets slip the slightest indication of attraction to a man.

The sound is just a tiny squeak at first, but it soon builds into a wailing screech that a boiling kettle would be jealous of. He also flaps his arms wildly like he’s trying to achieve liftoff, unsettling Peter from his position tucked under his arm.

“I told you guys!!” he cheers when the girly screeching stops.

“What?” Peter asks, uncovering his ears with a grimace and shuffling to get comfortable without the heat of Wade’s body against his.

“Not talking to you,” Wade replies flippantly, doing a little jig around the coffee table. “I hardly believe it either!” he continues with another girlish squeal. Peter waits it out, having learned long ago to let it go when Wade starts talking to himself.

“Does this mean we get to hold hands and you’ll buy me dinner, and presents, and take me to the movies and kiss me gently?”

Peter almost doesn’t answer until he realizes the words are finally being directed at him.

“We already do all that,” he says patiently. Wade stares at him hard.

“When was the last time you got me a present?” he asks accusingly.

“I gave you those stupid little Spider-man and Deadpool bobble heads. The ones you keep putting in lewd positions on the dresser.”

“Oh yeah, forgot about those,” Wade says, but his fond smile only lasts momentarily. “But you never buy me flowers, or lingerie or those little penis shaped chocolates that I like,” he grumbles.

“Do you even like flowers?”

Wade glares at him. “Okay, no. But I like lingerie and penis chocolate. Would it kill you to pop into Victoria’s Secret once in a while?” he persists.

Peter kisses him and pulls him back down onto the couch. “Fine, if you’re going to keep whining about it I’ll buy you something pretty. Pick out whatever you want, as lacy or frilly or slutty as you can find.”

Wade squeals again and flings his arms around him, practically vibrating in excitement.

“I’ll get you something too,” he says happily. “How do you feel about big sparkly dildos?”

…….

The door slams so hard against the wall that a picture frame plunges to its death, smashing spectacularly on the floor. If he were in a better mood he’d give it a ten out of ten for execution.

He’s not in a better mood.

Peter cusses and stomps over to grab the broom from the closet. It’s like everything is out to get him today.

It’s hard not to feel like that when you’ve spent the entire day hearing almost everyone you know slander your boyfriend. One or two jokes Peter could let slide, because Wade is a pain and he knows that. He’s painfully aware of the fact, having spent the majority of his time with the man for well over a year now.

But when the jokes keep coming, and the abuse keeps piling on it’s hard to keep his cool. Today he ‘d heard all about it from heroes, from villains, even from his non-super friends, and it was all he could do not to web all of them up and use them as particularly squirmy punching bags.

At the very least his spectacular exit from the Avengers tower, in which he had broken an automatic door by slamming it closed, had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t happy. When Peter throws a hissy fit he makes it impressive.

Worse than the teasing is the fact that he knows if things had been different, if it was someone else dating Wade, he would have happily joined in. In fact, he’d probably have been the main perpetrator of the jokes. He’s actually crafted a few that far surpass the ones directed at him today.

The fact that they would have come more from spite than any sort of affection is even worse. There’s a difference between insulting Wade, secure in the fact that he loves him, and what he’s had to deal with today.

He sighs guiltily. Maybe he’s being a hypocrite. And maybe he should apologize for the nastiness he’s directed at Wade in the past.

Saying sorry however, is a tricky business. He could come right out and say it, own up to his shame (there’s a lot of it) and lay it all out, but knowing Wade he’ll laugh in his face, cover his metaphorical wounds with his own special brand of humour and avoid the topic until Peter stops trying.

But maybe just showing Wade how much he means to him will be enough. Peter dumps the broken glass in the garbage and heads back out to buy some supplies.

…….

When Wade arrives home there’s a bouquet of weapons by the door. That’s not just an expression either. The guns and blades are tied together with a red bow and have been arranged in a large glass vase on a side table that has been moved so it sits in the middle of the floor.

He pokes at it warily, admiring a cluster of wicked looking throwing knives before he notices the note sitting innocuously beside the vase.

“Wade, you said you didn’t like flowers, so I had to improvise. Follow the ‘rose petals’ to find me. Love Peter”

Wade looks around, blinks and then bursts into laughter.

The floor is strewn with little packets of Taco Bell hotsauce which form a trail through the house that leads to his bedroom, where he assumes Peter is waiting.

“I feel like I’m in a chick flick,” he simpers, shucking his weapons onto the couch. Bedroom means sexy times, and that means no weapons unless Peter pre-approves them. They’ve had that fight already, no point in pushing his luck when the night is looking so promising.

“You’re the girl Wade!” a voice calls from the bedroom.

“Only because your legs look fat in a dress,” he replies, yanking open the door.

The pyromaniac in him dances for joy at the sheer amount of candles covering every surface. Peter sure has gotten over his brief aversion to flames. Maybe it’s some sort of ‘face your fears’ thing, but Wade digs it, especially when the candles illuminate Peter wearing his very favourite skinny jeans, the ones that make his ass look spectacular, and a Deadpool t-shirt.

“Love the flowers by the way. But I’m noticing a sever lack of penis chocolate slash lingerie here… unless you’re wearing it under your clothes?”

The hopeful note doesn’t escape Peter’s notice, but he chooses to ignore it in favour of standing up and marching forward to plant a kiss worthy of the Notebook on Wade’s lips. Okay, maybe not quite as grand but it’s at least better than Twilight. Possibly more along the lines of 27 Dresses. Not that he’s catalogued and rated chick flick kisses, because that would just be weird.

“Have you been eating hotdogs?” Wade asks, striving as always to shatter the romantic atmosphere.

“Shut up,” he says kissing him again. “Besides, you love hotdogs.”

“Never said I didn’t,” Wade replies with a smirk.

The tension between them isn’t exactly awkward, but it is a tad strained as Peter tries valiantly to decide how best to approach what he has planned.

“I want to do something for you,” he finally blurts out, proving once again that he is up there with Don Juan as a debonair lady killer. He can practically hear the sighs of all the women who are missing out on his skills in the bedroom. They sound oddly relieved.

Which is why he’s almost offended when Wade’s guard goes up immediately, his eyes narrowing as he looks at him suspiciously.

“You’ve gotta take off your clothes and get on the bed first,” he continues quickly, and is gratified to see the suspicion dissolve to be replaced by eager excitement.

“And it’s not even my birthday!” Wade chirps, shedding spandex with alarming speed (how does he not get stuck in it? Peter’s legs get trapped at least 80% of the time and he ends up flailing awkwardly and trying not to fall on his ass).

Wade practically swan dives onto the bed, rolling and bouncing, and generally making a spectacle of himself as he tries to get comfy against the headboard. Peter smiles indulgently, taking his time removing his own clothing as Wade complains loudly from the bed. No lingerie, he notes. Damn Peter for getting his hopes up.

“Wade,” Peter says, cutting off the babble momentarily. “I said I wanted to do something for you,” he pauses uncertainly. “If you don’t like what I’m doing just say so okay?”

Wade snorts, which Peter takes as consent, so he climbs up onto the bed, straddling Wade’s legs and grabbing one of his hands, holding it tightly within his own.

He starts by kissing each of his fingers, softly pressing his lips against the rough skin where scars obscure his fingerprints. He wonders what they would have looked like as he pulls the tip of his index finger into his mouth and nudges at it with his tongue. Would the ridges have been shaped in arches, or whorls, or loops? He takes a moment to mourn the fact that he’ll never know.

He soon moves to the next hand to repeat the actions, kissing and nibbling at each finger, looking up occasionally to gauge Wade’s reaction. His face is carefully blank but his eyes are blazing as he watches Peter move down to his wrist, kissing gently and flicking out his tongue to taste the sensitive skin. He drags his lips up his arm, taking time to lick and suck at the indent at the inside of his elbow before moving over to repeat his veneration on the other arm.

Wade’s chest rises and falls rapidly along with his ragged breathing, but some of the tension starts to bleed out of his posture as Peter moves up to nibble at his shoulder. He rests his forehead against the slick skin for a second, nuzzling him until Wade’s silence starts to worry him and he has to look up again.

Wade’s eyes are dark, still burning intensely as they lock with his own, but he can’t tell what he’s thinking. He leans forward to press his lips to the edge of Wade’s mouth, kissing the corners until the frown on his lips begins to ease.

“You okay?” he asks, still kissing along his jaw, following the rough line of it to curl his tongue around an earlobe.

“Hot young guy kisses me all over and then asks me if I’m okay. You really are stupid aren’t you?” Wade growls wryly as Peter bites his neck.

“Sometimes,” Peter agrees, licking the teeth marks even as they fade, swept away by his healing factor.

Wade makes a sound, no more than a puff of air, as Peter flattens his tongue against his pulse point to taste his heartbeat. He trails more kisses down Wade’s neck to his chest, shifting his position as he kisses downwards, taking time to lave at his nipples.

Wickedly, he rolls one between his teeth just to hear the rumble of a moan that Wade tries to bite back. He can’t allow himself to linger on them too much though because he knows how sensitive they are and he has plans for Wade tonight that require quite a bit of stamina.

He lets his tongue lead him down Wade’s muscled abdomen as he looks up to see him staring at him intently, the barest whisper of a smile painted on the upturned corner of his mouth.

He closes his eyes and smiles back, kissing his navel, flicking his tongue out again, hoping for another moan. Thankfully he isn’t disappointed. Wade’s hands tangle in his hair as he moves down to his pelvis, studiously avoiding the erection that stubbornly makes itself known, bypassing it to bite his left hipbone. He bites the right as well for good measure, then follows the soft line of the crease of his leg down.

It’s at this point that Wade gets impatient and begins demanding relief, and he isn’t shy about detailing exactly what he wants either.

“Peter I’d like you to meet my dick. Please, shake its hand, give it a kiss, do something. How can you just ignore it like that, it’s right there!”

“Be patient Wade, I promise I’ll get there, but before I do I want to kiss every part of you,” he tells him, biting his inner thigh. Wade swallows thickly.

“Every part?” he asks timidly.

Peter nods, and continues to kiss down over his knee before Wade can even choke out his assent.

He continues kissing over every inch of his legs and feet until Wade is hard and leaking precome with his hands clenched tightly into the sheets in an effort to stay still.

“Turn over,” Peter commands, pulling back after a final kiss to the sole of his left foot.

“Peter…”

“Please?” Peter tries, and if his brown eyes widen pleadingly and his lower lip juts out a bit it is in no way done purposefully. It’s not like he knows what expressions make Wade melt like a puddle, and if he did he certainly wouldn’t file that knowledge away for later use (try abuse).

Wade groans and sulks and proves once and for all that he is a child in the body of a deadly killer, but turns over obediently and Peter takes a moment to silently congratulate himself and do a little mental victory dance.

Wade looks over his shoulder and frowns. “Why are you dancing? Is this about to become a scene out of one of the weirder 70’s disco pornos?”

“Are you suggesting there’s ‘normal’ 70’s disco porn?” he deflects. Not to self: mental dancing is best kept mental.

“Oh you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a chick with an afro go down on a guy with a bigger afro to the soundtrack of Saturday Night Fever” Wade says gleefully.

“Please, tell me more about the disco porn. I want to hear all about it,” Peter replies dryly as he licks hot stripes down his spine, smiling as Wade arches into the feeling.

“Nope, I’m good, I’ll shut up. Please continue,” silence reigns for at least three minutes as Peter kisses every inch of his back and thighs, and he’s impressed really, because even he would have made a sound if Wade had licked a stripe across the dip at the small of his back like he was doing to him right now.

“Okay, new plan. Talking is good. I’m just gonna keep going while you do your thing okay?”

Peter tries not to grin as he presses his lips dangerously close to the line between his ass and thighs, nibbling and licking at him with broad sweeps of his tongue.

“Oh yeah, now we’re headed somewhere. Ugh, Peter that feels so good. Like, new gun that doubles as a flamethrower good. Oh! Yes, higher, more, c’mon Pete give me more,” the babbling sounds frantic, and Peter ruthlessly continues to tease and lick just shy of where Wade desperately wants his lips.

He finally presses open-mouthed kisses to one cheek and then the other, licking wetly at the top of the cleft of his ass. He moves over to bite the left cheek hard as Wade starts to rut against the bed in desperation. The slow, lazy seduction begins to take on an edge of frantic tension for Peter as well as he swirls his tongue in circles over scarred skin and is met with a needy whimper for his efforts.

Licking in between his cheeks earns him a mewl of pleasure that is shockingly erotic, and he feels his own heart beating hard and fast as he makes Wade slowly lose his mind beneath him. He circles his tongue around his hole and Wade’s grinding against the mattress increases frantically, and he begins to almost pant against the pillow.

Heat coils in his belly and his body thrums with need as Wade’s monologue is reduced to a desperate litany of “Please, c’mon, please, please, need you,” and he moves his hips rhythmically, continuously rubbing his cock up fast and fluidly against the sheets.

“Turn over?” Peter asks, and is almost thrown off the bed as Wade rushes to comply. He finally kisses Wade’s cock, pressing one kiss to the head, one to the shaft and one final wet kiss to his balls.

He then slides back up his body, leaning in to steal a kiss from his lips that lasts much longer than he had intended until Wade bites his lip and shoves him away, looking grumpy. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“What?” Peter asks distractedly, already longing to be kissing him again.

“Kill me. With sex. I mean, it’s a nice way to go in theory, but blue balls are no joke Pete. I really really need-”

Peter kisses him again, softly this time as he reaches for the lube and starts to open himself up with his fingers. The slick slide of them into him is maddening, and he finally quickens his pace as he adds a fourth finger to stretch himself wider.

“I’m not trying to kill you,” he pants, his body jolting as his fingers brush his prostate. “I’m trying to tell you I - how much I…care,” he mutters, leaning further into Wade’s body to press their sweat-slicked chest together. He pants onto his collarbone while he spreads more lube liberally onto Wade’s cock, making his hips jerk.

“Oh.”

The silence between them is a bit awkward, but that soon fades as Peter takes Wade in hand, guiding him to push effortlessly up into him. He keeps himself up so that Wade is just barely an inch inside, while both of them gasp at the sensation, before he pushes down another inch with a hiss, holding off Wade’s attempts to buck up into him all the way.

“Pete, I know you think you’re being nice but if you don’t get on with it I’m- oh fuck, that’s it. Ride hard. Don’t look back.”

“Thanks for that Aragorn,” Peter laughs, having sunk down to impale himself fully again on Wade’s cock.

“Does that make you Arwen? You are pretty pretty but- Christ! Shit, Peter, Peter, Peter yeah!”

Wade’s nails dig into his thighs as Peter bounces enthusiastically on his cock, his head thrown back in bliss. It’s impossible to focus fully on Wade as he loses himself in the shockwaves of pleasure coursing through him. His hips circle and Wade starts to thrust up into him, meeting his movements and driving himself so much deeper.

“Wade,” he gasps. His legs are shaking but his hands are steady as he runs them over every inch of scared chest before him. One hand slides up to cup Wade’s cheek tenderly, their eyes meet, and suddenly Wade is coming deep inside him.

“Keep going,” he rasps, and Peter does, clenching his muscles around Wade’s spent cock to feel every inch of it still hard within him.

“I…uh…I feel the same, for the record,” Wade says with alarming sincerity. “With the uh, caring and emotions and…stuff. Even my boxes are nuts about you.” His words are accompanied by his hand closing around Peter’s cock to stroke evenly, and he comes with a silent scream, his eyes closing as he flops forward bonelessly onto Wade’s chest.

Wade’s hands scratch lightly at his back, drawing patterns on his skin, while Peter peppers a line of kisses across his neck. Of course, Wade chooses this happy moment to speak up, seeming almost terrified of the gentleness between them.

“You don’t think…” Wade voice sounds too loud in the silence of the bedroom. “This…this isn’t a mistake is it?” he asks quietly, like a man drowning, barely breathing as his lungs fill with the intimacy of the moment.

Peter doesn’t reply, he just rises up and kisses the words away, his hands gripping the sides of Wade’s head tightly.

“I lose people Pete,” he tries again, and is met with another kiss, slow and deep, until they both barely remember why they are kissing, or why they ever stopped when it feels this good.

Wade is dazed when they break apart, his eyes half closed so that he looks sleepy and content. Peter leans forward and presses their foreheads together.

“I lose people too,” he says. He doesn’t need any more words than that for Wade to understand.

They sleep that night wrapped around each other, tangled together, and for the first time in a long time neither dwells on what they’ve lost, both finally losing themselves in the strange little something they have found in each other.

…….

The next day Wade blows up the toaster and Peter kicks him out for the rest of the day. He finds him curled up on the couch with the tv volume set low at one in the morning when he gets up for some water.

“You coming to bed or not?” he grumbles, watching in amusement as Wade fumbles with the converter and scrambles up off the couch to follow him back to bed.

Peter sighs as he studies Wade, who squeezes him like the Kraken trying to down a ship.Wade is loud and rude, he thinks as he watches the man settle down for the night. He’s clingy to the point of stalking and he can often be vicious and downright mean. Really he’s everything Peter should avoid in a partner.

But then he’ll go and prove that he’s really honestly trying to be a good guy, or say something surprising and sweet, and rope Peter right back in no matter how angry he gets. His flaws may be glaring, but the closer he looks the more he realizes that Wade Wilson may be damaged, but he is by no means ruined.

They don’t have a fairy-tale romance, but that kind of thing would never make sense for them. Not when one of them dresses up in a spider-themed costume and roams the city streets patrolling for crime and the other is sanity-challenged, scar riddled mercenary for hire. They don’t get flowers and rainbows and sunshine all the time, their pasts are too riddled with sadness, pain and death for that, but they have each other to lean on, and despite all his faults Wade always proves he cares, and that’s good enough for him.

So maybe their relationship isn’t ideal, but Peter knows that if he has any say in it he’s damn well going to strive for that fabled happy ending, mistakes and all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully the way I uploaded this was fine. I considered doing chapters but that seemed like a lot of work... :P Hope you enjoyed!


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